Good Luck, Bad Luck Read online

  “And how will you manage that?” The dragon’s tone was both sarcastic and bitter; she knew it would take time for him to develop feelings for her, but she had waited so long–a bit longer wouldn’t hurt.

  “You’ll see,” Mary whispered back.

  Picking up the basket and candleholder, she knocked twice on the door and waited. Inhaling a deep breath, she suppressed a smile of triumph.

  “Ungrateful creature! How dare you say that!” Mary said it loudly enough to be heard as the door was opening. “It will be a pleasure to see you hang.” She exited the cell and said directly to Delwyn, “The things he said, and he refused the food! So much for treating him well!”

  It seemed wrong to Mary to use her knowledge of the locals to her advantage in such a way, but she saw the eager expression on Delwyn’s face as he turned to Prater for permission. She swallowed hard as Prater gave him a cursory nod. Delwyn needed no further encouragement.

  “I’ll teach him a lesson, Mary.”

  Mary saw the smile that crossed Delwyn’s face as he walked by her towards the cell, crackling his knuckles. Her eyes lingered on the closed door for a moment before she turned and bid Prater farewell and quickly exited the building. She felt guilty knowing that Delwyn would teach the dragon a lesson in the coming hours but took solace in the necessity of it. At least once Delwyn had exacted the punishment, the dragon would be left alone, and because he would be alone, she hoped that her plan would be executed flawlessly.

  Pausing for a moment, Mary closed her eyes and breathed in the cool air. She smiled knowing that the book building stood only a few steps away. With eyes open again, she adjusted the basket on her arm. A hand on that same arm made Mary jump, and she turned to see that Prater had followed her.

  “I appreciate you looking out for the village, and me as well,” Prater began as he looked down at Mary.

  “This village has been through enough already.”

  “You know, if you’re free tomorrow, I heard there’s a patch of wildflowers near the old bridge, we could go for a walk after we’ve dealt with the dragon if you want.”

  “Perhaps we could. Goodnight, Master Prater.”

  Chapter 2

  Time passed slowly as Mary waited for the sun to go down and then waited even longer for the chatter of the people outside to fade to silence. Finally, when all signs of people had disappeared outside, she lit the candle and descended the half dozen steps from the passage room to one that sat to the left, known as the narrow book room. In that room, the oldest of the books were stored away from the sunlight to preserve their contents longer.

  As she walked to a particular bookcase in the middle of the longest wall that ran parallel with the passage room’s walls, she found it difficult to contain the elation and excitement she felt. Reaching up to the shelf just above her head, she pulled on the spine of the book Tiani’s Local Customs and Celebrations to free it from its place.

  Once the book was in her hand, she reached for the back of the bookcase and pushed down on a small lever. For a moment nothing happened, and Mary replaced the book as if it had never been removed. Then, slowly and silently, a section of the bookcase moved backwards, and then to the right-hand side, revealing the secret tunnel.

  Stepping into the tunnel, Mary turned and pressed down on another lever, this one larger and not concealed by the entrance way. She did not bother to watch the bookcase close and instead focused on the sight before her.

  Normally, she would face the endless darkness of the tunnel ahead, but she had prepared it in advance by collecting the sap from the trees behind the book building. The sap allowed for the torches to burn longer when the sticks were soaked in it overnight. Even though they’d been alight since morning, they continued cast light in the tunnel for the first part of the journey.

  Passing them by, she tapped the pocket of her apron to assure herself that she hadn’t forgotten the extra candles and matches that she would need. Above ground, the detention building might be a short walk away, but it wasn’t the case in the tunnels.

  When the tunnel had been built, the book-keeper had been concerned about it collapsing or the earth sagging from travel over it by the villagers, and decided that a direct path would be noticeable if something went wrong. The plans were then made to ensure that the tunnel, or series of tunnels as it became, weaved and curved some distance to the outskirts of Tiani, both where the sun rose and where it set.

  Walking along the dirt floor of the tunnel, Mary allowed her fingers to trail lightly across the smoothness of the stone walls. She waited to feel the texture of the stone change as it would indicate to her that she would be close to the cell’s wall. Finally, she felt that change; it was rougher, and the stones were not so neatly joined.

  Mary held her hand over her chest to encourage her heart to become steadied in pace. With an exhale of breath, she drew closer to the wall, pressed her ear up against the stone doorway, and listened. A few moans of pain broke the silence, and Mary bit her lip, knowing that she wouldn’t be the dragon’s favourite person straight away.

  Pressing hard on one particular brick in the wall, a soft click sounded before a section began to move silently to the side. In the place of the bricks, a hole big enough for any adult to climb through appeared.

  Before she entered, Mary reached out and with effort placed the candleholder on the floor in the room. She moved her head carefully through the hole and her body followed swiftly until she stood inside the cell.

  She fumbled in her pocket amongst the spare candles for the key, a master key to unlock the chains. She had obtained it some months prior when Prater had fallen drunk from his horse and passed out near the entrance of the book building. Books had certainly come in handy to learn how to make a mould. She had identified a local tree that, when cut, oozed thick sticky amber-coloured sap, though she had to work quickly to mould the sap around the key and remove it before it became entombed. The books had also versed her on how to then melt down one of the two spoons she owned to create the key.

  “How could you do that?” the dragon hissed before sucking his breath in quickly. His hands clutched at his side where the mark of a boot stained the remains of the shirt.

  Mary unlocked his right wrist as she knelt next to him. “You want to stay here?”

  He shook his head as the lock opened, freeing one wrist, then the other, before his ankles were freed as well.

  Mary helped him stand, and he staggered to the opening in the wall. The dragon gingerly lifted his leg up and hoisted himself into the tunnel–almost toppling in head first – and Mary followed silently.

  With the cell behind them, they started the walk back to the book building. It took longer than she had anticipated due to the injuries he had sustained at the hands of both Prater and Delwyn. There were times that Mary struggled to help him walk as his arm weighed heavily across her shoulders. Finally, she led him to a room to the side of the entrance through the bookcase. She felt that it would be better and safer if he rested for a few days first. Plus, if Prater ordered a building search, then the dragon would not be found, as she was the only person alive who knew of the room’s existence.

  As the dragon sat on the bed, Mary took a look at his wrists. They were red and abraded but some bruising had also begun to form from the pressure of the cuffs. Her forehead creased at the sight, concerned that the gold had started to affect him so soon. No written records existed of the real effect gold had on a dragon; the information in the books fell closer to being conjecture and legend, the kind of story Mary’s own mother had told her as a child.

  Mary turned away from the dragon to light the fire that must have burned out during the rescue. Once the flames were blazing, Mary picked up the black metal pot she had filled with water the previous day, removed the covering cloth, and hooked it above the heat.

  A silence hung over the room as Mary waited for the water to begin to boil. She tried to keep her attention on the fire to avoid the glare of the dragon behind her.
Still, even as her fingers impatiently tapped against her apron, she felt uncomfortable at the situation she had created.

  As the water began to dance on the surface, Mary used the covering cloth to remove the pot and set it down on the stone floor. She turned and picked up a thicker cloth from the small wooden table beside the bed, along with a wooden bowl that sat beside it. Back at the pot, Mary poured the water into the bowl, careful not to spill any. Steam rose from the bowl but subsided a little when she added a couple of cups of cold water from the original barrel. Mary hesitantly turned and walked the water over to the dragon, placing the bowl down on the table it had come from.

  “Leave me alone.” He pushed Mary away and lay down so that he faced the stone wall.

  “Don’t be such a baby.” She dunked the thicker cloth into the bowl and then twisted it to remove some of the water. While he didn’t say anything, she noticed how his head turned at the sound.

  She rolled him over and started to wash his left hand and wrist, revealing the pale white skin of the northern region of the kingdom. The dragon had his head turned to the right, concentrating on the wall. Mary remembered a time when she too had found that wall fascinating.

  “The wound is deep, but it will heal in time.” She paused, “I’m Mary.”

  As the dragon turned his head to look at her, Mary began washing his other arm. She glanced up to see that his expression remained stern and unfriendly.

  “I can wash myself.” He tried grabbing the cloth, but Mary pulled it out of reach.

  “Sure, just like you can walk without help.” She smiled and the dragon let out a low growl.

  Rinsing the cloth, Mary reached out to wash his neck, but his hand caught her wrist and his grip tightened. The show of strength both surprised and puzzled her; if the legends were true, a dragon’s body couldn’t recover so quickly. She pushed the thought away, reminding herself that she’d never read anything in a book to confirm the legend, but made a mental note to ask later on, when he recovered.

  “I said I can do it.”

  Mary handed him the cloth and he let go.

  “Fine. There’s a change of clothes over there.” Getting up, she began walking towards the door before realising he hadn’t even thanked her. Her pride prickled. “You really are ungrateful.”

  Outside of the room, Mary reached for the lever and left him alone. Upstairs in the main book room, Mary could see the lightened sky outside as the night began to fade away. Despite the night being long, she didn’t feel as sleepy as she had anticipated.

  In her bedchamber, she exchanged her brown dress for a black one before descending the staircase in no great hurry. Mary grabbed her shawl that hung from a hook beside the door and wrapped it around her shoulders.

  The villagers had gathered by the hanging tree. The sun would rise at any moment, and the absence of Prater could be heard in the chatter. Mary hid the smile she wanted to show and looked around at the other villagers, mimicking their confused looks.

  A hushed silence came over the crowd as Prater emerged from his own home. Mary had never entered Prater’s home but had heard rumours of it containing no less than four bedchambers, far more than any others in the village. She had overheard these details from the leaders who often walked past the book building after dark to smoke their pipes. Mary supposed that behind the imposing oak door that had weathered with age, rooms of pure wonderment must be concealed. Yet her curiosity had never been piqued enough to tempt her inside.

  Prater stood beneath the tree, and Mary noticed that for the moment he seemed unphased and at ease. Delwyn hurried from the cells with a look of surprise, bewilderment and fear. Upon seeing Delwyn, Prater’s demeanour abruptly changed.

  “He’s gone, the dragon has escaped!” Delwyn exclaimed, his voice pitching higher than usual, as he came up close to Prater.

  A murmur from those villagers nearest to Prater went up before a silence descended, an eerie silence that Mary had heard only once before. The thought of that event sent a shiver down Mary’s back and she pulled the shawl tighter.

  Mary observed with the group as Prater stooped over awkwardly to hear Delwyn. He clenched his fists and set his jaw.

  “That’s impossible!” Prater hissed back before casting a look at the crowd and taking a breath.

  Delwyn looked at the ground as he tried to whisper, “He’s not in there; the cell is empty. What should we do?”

  “Get my horse and gather the men,” Prater ordered, and Delwyn immediately moved to complete the task.

  Prater turned to the gathered crowd. The collective voices made intended whispers become audible as the conversation the men had exchanged filtered through the crowd. With his hand raised, Prater said, “A minor setback. He will be found and hung. Go ahead and start your daily duties.”

  As the other villagers moved back towards their homes, and the men gathered outside the detention building, Mary slipped back into the book building very pleased that her plan remained on course.

  Preparing some food, Mary felt that the dragon should have had enough time to calm down. After all, according to what she had read, dragons were supposed to be unable to break promises. However, Mary still questioned what she read in books, which was why she had warned him in the cell of breaking it – just in case.

  Mary found him where she left him, on the bed. She noted with pleasure that he had taken the time to clean himself and now wore the clothes she had left for him. He glanced her way when she entered, but his eyes wandered quickly away from her and to the food on the plate she carried.

  Mary placed the plate down on the table next to the bed. Eagerly, he reached out for the food and started to push it into his mouth in a most undignified manner as Mary turned for the door.

  “You’ve eaten already?”

  Mary paused and turned to face him. “You need it more than me.”

  He sat back, leaving the remainder of the food uneaten.

  “Eat,” he said, indicating the plate with his hand. It was the first sign of civility Mary had received from him.

  “You’ll need your strength. I cannot increase the food ration they give me. I’ll be fine; go ahead and eat.”

  “Is that an order?” He had a playful look in his eye that made Mary relax somewhat in his company.

  “Yes, it is.”

  “What if I don’t?”

  “Then we will both go hungry.” A simple and clear fact that needed no further explanation, but as Mary waited for his response, she saw his eyes look over her. She pursed her lips, hoping to convey her determination.

  “I could leave at any time.”

  “Yes, you could, but then I would be forced to keep my promise to you.” As Mary spoke the words, there was no hint of playfulness in her tone or facial expression. She didn’t like to threaten but she wanted the good luck; she felt she deserved the good luck after what had happened to her family. “I need to go.”

  Away from the dragon, she slid down the wall and pulled her knees up. Memories of that night flooded her mind and played as if it had happened only yesterday. It had been a dark, starless night; most nights the villagers were in bed when the sunset, as most rose early to start work.

  That night though, people from neighbouring villages had travelled to witness the burning. Prater, the new village leader and no more than a teenager, had ordered the men of the village to build a fire larger than had ever been needed. His reason had been simple: all the books were to be burned.

  Yansa, the elderly book-keeper with the tanned earth-brown face, weather-beaten and wrinkled, had tried to stop him, but had been overpowered by men a third of his age, men who didn’t suffer the complaints that age bought with it. Those men held him to the side as the events unfolded. Yansa told Mary years later, that at that time he had been the sole person who could read in the village despite years of trying to convince others of the importance of books.

  People gathered around the fire, all eyes on Prater. He smiled as he looked around, waiting to ena
ct his first command as master of Tiani. Prater had been appointed to the position after the sudden death of his father, making him the youngest leader in the area.

  The crowd hushed as Prater raised his arm in readiness for his speech, but Yansa had seen his chance to speak.

  “You mustn’t burn the books,” the old man cried out. “The dragons...the dragons will be angry. You cannot use their power to destroy something they work to preserve. They will...” A vicious blow delivered by one of Prater’s men knocked the breath from Yansa’s mouth.

  Bent over in pain wheezing, his arms held tightly by the men, Yansa’s eyes filled with a look of sadness, that as a six-year-old, she’d been unable to understand. Mary’s hand clung tightly to the long skirt of her mother, who had patted her head; the habit had always soothed her but not that night. She watched with all the others, her brown eyes open wide, as the flames licked at the night air in anticipation.

  “We will burn these useless books and make the book building a place for us all!” Prater picked up the first book, a conceited smile on his face.

  Yansa closed his eyes and raised his hands to cover his face. Mary remembered doing the same thinking it a game.

  The book never touched the fire. It didn’t even get close enough to be singed.

  Mary opened her eyes to find Prater turning in a bewildered circle in the midst of dozens of villagers lying on the ground. The book in his hand wavered in the air until it fell to the ground beside his feet. His hand covered his mouth as the survivors began to curse and cry.

  Mary reached for her mother’s skirt but grasped only air. Looking down, she found that her mother had fallen, along with her father and older sister. She knelt beside her mother and shook her shoulders.

  “Mama, wake up. Mama, Mama!” She had shaken her mother as hard as she could, but when her mother would not even blink, she crawled towards her father who lay nearby. “Papa, Papa, you need to get up. Papa, open your eyes.” She reached for her sister next. “Jessie? Jessie, I’m gonna eat that cake Mama left on the table for you. I swear I will if you don’t open your eyes!”